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While Caution calm, yet ftill prepar'd for arms,
And foreign Treaties, guard from foreign harms:
While equal Justice, hearing every cause,
Makes every subject join to love the laws.
Where Britain's Patriots in Council meet,
Let public fafety rest at Anna's feet:
Let Oxford's fchemes the path to Plenty fhow,
And through the realm increafing Plenty go.
Let Arts and Sciences in glory rife,
And pleased the world has leifure to be wife ;
Around their Oxford and their St. John stand,
Like plants that flourish by the Master's hand:
And fafe in hope the fons of Learning wait,
Where Learning's self has fix'd' her fair retreat.
Let Traffick, cherish'd by the Senate's care,
On all the feas employ the wafting air:
And Industry, with circulating wing,
Through all the land the goods of Traffick bring.
The bleffings fo difpos'd will long abide,
Since Anna reigns, and Harley's thoughts prefide,
Great Ormond's arms the fword of caution wield,
And hold Britannia's broad-protecting shield;
Bright Bolingbroke and worthy Dartmouth treat,
By fair dispatch, with every foreign State;
And Harcourt's knowledge, equitably fhown,
Makes Justice call his firm decrces her own.
Thus all that Poets fancied Heaven of old,
May for the Nation's prefent emblem hold:
There Jove imperial fway'd; Minerva wife,
And Phoebus eloquent, adorn'd the skies;
On arts Cyllenius fix'd his full delight,
Mars rein'd the war, and Themis judg'd the right:
All mortals, once beneficently great,
(As Fame reports) and rais'd in heavenly state;
Yet, fharing labours, ftill they fhunn'd repofe,
To shed the bleffings down by which they rofe.
Illuftrious Queen, how Heaven hath heard thy prayers!
What ftores of happiness attend thy cares!
A Church in fafety fix'd, a State in rest,
A faithful Miniftry, a People bless'd;
And Kings, fubmiffive at thy foot-ftool thrown,
That others Rights restore, or beg their own.
Now rais'd with thankful mind; and rolling flow,
In grand proceffion to the temple go,
By fnow-white horses drawn ; while founding Fame
Proclaims thy coming, Praise exalts thy name;
Fair Honour, drefs'd in robes, adorns thy ftate,
And on thy train the crowded nations wait;
Who, preffing, view with what a temper'd grace
The looks of Majefty compofe thy face;
And mingling fweetnefs fhines, or how thy drefs,
And how thy pomp, an inward joy confefs;
Then, fill'd with pleasures to thy glory due,
With fhouts, the chariot moving on, pursue.
As when the Phoenix from Arabia flown
(If any Phoenix were by Anna known)
His fpice at Phoebus' fhrine prepar'd to lay,
Where'er their Monarch cut his airy way;
The gathering birds around the wonder flew,
And much admir'd his shape, and much his hue;
The tuft of gold that glow'd above his head,
His fpacious train with golden feathers spread;
His gilded bofom, fpeck'd with purple pride,
And both his wings in gloffy purple dy'd:
He ftill purfues his way; with wondering eyes
The birds attend, and follow where he flies.
Thrice happy Britons, if at last you know
'Tis lefs to conquer, than to want a foe;
That triumphs ftill are made for war's decrease,
When men, by conqueft, rife to views of peace;
That over toils for peace in view we run,
Which gain'd, the world is pleas'd, and war is done.
Fam'd Blenheim's field, Ramillies' noble feat,
Blaregni's defperate act of gallant heat,
Or wondrous Winendale, are war pursued,
By wounds and deaths, through plains with blood embrued;
But good defign, to make the world be still,
With human grace adorns the needful ill.
This end obtain'd, we clofe the fcenes of rage,
And gentler glories deck the rifing age.
Such gentler glories, fuch reviving days,
The Nation's wishes, and the Statesman's praise:
Now pleas'd to fhine, in golden order throng,
Demand our annals, and enrich our fong.
Then go where Albion's cliffs approach the skies,
(The Fame of Albion fo deferves to rife);
And, deep engrav'd for time, till time fhall cease,
Upon the ftones their fair infcription place.
Iberia rent, the power of Gallia broke,
Batavia refcued from the threaten'd yoke;
The royal Auftrian rais'd, his realms restor'd,
Great Britain arm'd, triumphant and ador'd;
Its ftate enlarg'd, its peace reftor'd again,
Are bleffings all adorning Anna's Reign.
On his BIRTH-DAY, November 30, 1713,
RG'D by the warmth of Friendship's facred flame, But more by all the glories of thy fame; By all thofe offsprings of thy learned mind, In judgment folid, as in wit refin'd, Refolv'd I fing. Though labouring up the way To reach my theme, O Swift, accept my lay.
Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above, Through Contemplation's airy fields I rove; Where powerful Fancy purifies my eye,
And lights the beauties of a brighter sky;
Fresh paints the meadows, bids green fhades afcend,
Clear rivers wind, and opening plains extend;
Then fills its landscape through the varied parts
With Virtues, Graces, Sciences, and Arts:
Superior Forms, of more than mortal air,
More large than mortals, more ferenely fair.
Of thefe two Chiefs, the guardians of thy name,
Confpire to raise thee to the point of fame.
Ye Future Times, I heard the filver found!
I faw the Graces form a circle round!
Each, where the fix'd, attentive feem'd to root,
And all, but Eloquence herfelf, was mute.
High o'er the rest I fee the Goddess rife,
Loose to the breeze her upper garment flies:
By turns, within her eyes the Paffions burn,
And fofter Paffions languish in their turn:
Upon her tongue Perfuafion or Command,
And decent Action dwells upon her hand.
From out her breaft ('twas there the treasure lay) She drew thy labours to the blaze of day;
Then gaz'd, and read the charms she could infpire,
And taught the liftening audience to admire,
How ftrong thy flight, how large thy grasp of thought,
How juft thy fchemes, how regularly wrought;
How fure you wound when Ironies deride,
Which must be feen, and feign to turn afide.
'Twas thus exploring the rejoic'd to fee
Her brightest features drawn fo near by thee:
"Then here," fhe cries," let future ages dwell,
And learn to copy, where they can't excel."
She fpake. Applaufe attended on the clofe:
Then Poëfy, her fister-art, arose;
Her fairer fifter, born in deeper ease,
Not made fo much for bufinefs, more to please.
Upon her cheek fits Beauty, ever young;
The foul of Mufic warbles on her tongue;
Bright in her eyes a pleafing Ardour glows,
And from her heart the sweetest Temper flows:
A laurel-wreath adorns her curls of hair,
And binds their order to the dancing air: